


Sticks

by soprano_buddy15



Series: Peace After Battle [4]
Category: The Last Kingdom, The Last Kingdom (TV), The Warrior Chronicles | The Saxon Stories - Bernard Cornwell
Genre: Domestic Sihtric, F/M, Father and Son, Post Season 4, Spoilers for Season 4, mentions of characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:41:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24434497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soprano_buddy15/pseuds/soprano_buddy15
Summary: Sihtric teaches his son sword-skill.
Relationships: Ealhswith/Sihtric (The Last Kingdom), Sihtric & Young Sihtric
Series: Peace After Battle [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1736485
Comments: 11
Kudos: 38





	Sticks

**Author's Note:**

> Hello my friends.
> 
> I enjoyed thinking about what this could be, but I'm not sure how I feel about it. There a moments I like but I'm not sure. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you guys like it! Constructive comments are always welcome! Just don't be rude, because nobody wants that.

“SIHTRIC!” Sihtric called up the ladder into the loft. Their house had become too small, especially with his young son being not so young anymore. Although he had to build up to make another room, he was seriously regretting allowing his thirteen year old son have his own space all the way up the ladder. 

It was just past sunrise, and his wife had already gone out with their five year old daughter Ealfled and his youngest son, barely four months old. Their morning meal had already been made and the work day was underway. 

He called up to his son again, and heard him thump around. “What?” His son poked his head over the edge of the loft. 

“Your mother has already left and your meal is getting cold,” Sihtric raised an eyebrow at his son. “You have a busy day today, so hurry.”

Sihtric heard his son grumble and move around upstairs, before climbing down the ladder and sitting at their table. Sihtric slid a bowl across the table. “Eat, quickly.”

“Why are you rushing?” Young Sihtric asked as scooped the oats into his mouth. “It is barely bright outside, and the barley fields will be there when I get there.”

Sihtric’s daughter had found her way into his herbs cupboard, and he grimaced as he stacked them neatly again. “You,” he said, bundling up the dried meadowsweet again. “Are you going to have to learn to sleep lighter if you want to be a warrior.”

Young Sihtric stopped eating, his spoon halfway to his mouth. “Warrior?” 

Turning around, Sihtric nodded. “You are nearly a man now, Sihtric. It is time you learned sword-skill.”

Disbelief was splattered all over his son’s face. “You are not fooling me?” He asked.

Sihtric shrugged. “Why would I fool with you?” Sihtric grinned as his son excitedly stood up, his morning meal forgotten. 

“When do we start? Can I use your sword? What about your seax-” 

“We will start you when finish your meal and clean your bowl.” Sihtric pointed to the bowl. “Sit down.”

Sihtric smirked as his son hurriedly scooped the oats into his mouth and threw the bowl into the bucket of washing water. Young Sihtric stuck is hands in the water and shook out his hands, drying them on his tunic. “I’m ready,” he said. “Are you going to give me one of your weapons-“

“Do not even consider touching my weapons.”

********

“Sticks?”

Sihtric tossed Young Sihtric a wooden stick as Finan chuckled from the corner. He was sitting on the corner of the fence, the goats behind him chewing their grass and looking disinterested. Young Sihtric fumbled as he grabbed hold of it, causing Finan to laugh harder. 

“You must learn how to be hit first,” Sihtric set his feet into the ground, twirling his stick around his wrist. “Prepare yourself.”

“Wait, what-“ 

Sihtric darted around and whacked his son on the back, and Finan nearly fell off the fence with laughter. 

Young Sihtric stumbled, but then brought his stick up and around, reaching far with both of his arms. Sihtric took a mere step backwards, and the stick passed by his face. The force Young Sihtric had used to whip the stick around meant that it kept going and he slipped in the mud. 

“He is not helping,” Young Sihtric complained as Finan was nearly bent double. Sihtric walked around and helped him up, straightening out his tunic.

“Finan has not helped a day in his life,” Sihtric responded, shooting his best friend a glance. “He will leave. I’m sure that Eadith will teach him what it means to lend a hand.”

Finan protested, but Sihtric raised an eyebrow and he jumped off of the fence. “You are all right shite’s,” he muttered, but patted Young Sihtric on the back as he left. 

Young Sihtric winced, stretching out his back. “That… really hurt.” 

Sihtric rested his stick on his shoulder. “That will be nothing compared to a sword,” he explained softly. “You must feel the pain that you are giving.”

“Is this how you learned to fight? With sticks?”

Sihtric shrugged, remembering how much he struggled to keep up with the rest of the Danish boys his age at Dunholm. “I never had someone to teach me properly. I had to learn on my feet.” He nudged his son. “I want to teach you properly.”

Young Sihtric glanced down at his stick. “What did I do wrong?” 

Using his own wooden stick, he tapped at his son’s feet. “You need to be secure in your stance.” Setting his own feet in the correct position, Sihtric showed his son how he could quickly move in all directions. “This is the position you want to be in. Try pushing me over.”

Making a face, Young Sihtric shoved himself into Sihtric, Sihtric was pleased with how strong his son was, and had to take a few steps back. “Very good.”

Young Sihtric pointed at his feet. “You moved.” He was confused. “I pushed you and you moved.” He raised his eyebrows, and Sihtric was reminded very strongly of his wife. 

“Yes, but you did not push me over. I was able to control my movements backwards.” Sihtric motioned for his son to mimic him, and he settled into the position. 

Carefully, slowly, Sihtric taught his son how to move back from a forward blow without stumbling. It took a couple of tries, but soon enough, he managed to move confidently. “Well done,” Sihtric went to the well and drew a bucket of water up, using the ladle to bring his son a drink. He was panting, sweat dripping down his face. “Now we go from the side.”

Young Sihtric muttered a curse under his breath in Danish, and Sihtric tapped him on the arm with his stick sharply. “You need to stop listening to me fight with Finan.” He said, frowning at Young Sihtric. “The side is just as important as the front.”

They ran the drill a few more times, and Sihtric was pleased with how steady his son had become. The sun was high in the sky when Sihtric decided to stop. “You’ve done well,” he said, taking the stick from him and setting it in the bucket that held all of the training supplies. “You now have a job to do.”

Young Sihtric was panting, his sweat running down his face. “A job?”

Sihtric laughed, ruffling his sons hair before turning and walking back towards their house. “The barley field is not going to weed itself.”

Young Sihtric groaned. “I am exhausted and bruised from you running into me over and over again.” They reached their house, the smell of bone broth was wafting out through the windows. 

Opening the door, Sihtric stooped to pick up his daughter who flung herself at him. She gave him a tight squeeze, excitedly telling him about her morning. Somehow, he had been cursed with the loudest daughter. It warmed his heart that she was so confident, and how much she reminded him of Uhtred’s own daughter, Stiorra. Ealfled would stick herself to Stiorra’s legs whenever her and Sigtryggr came to Coccham.

Ealhswith was stirring the broth over the hearth, their youngest son wrapped and carried on her back. She raised an eyebrow at Young Sihtric’s moaning as he sat down at the table, wincing. “What did you do to him?” She asked Sihtric as she ladled broth into bowls. 

He accepted the bowl with a soft words of thanks as he sat down beside his son. “I taught him how to be knocked around.” Ealhswith’s eyebrows moved higher on her forehead, but she smirked a little.

“I do not think I shall move for a month.” Sihtric shared a look with his wife as Young Sihtric complained and studied the few bruises on his arm. 

“You will be moving, the roof needs new straw over your sisters room.” Ealhswith pulled out a chair for herself and forced Ealfled to sit in her chair and eat her broth.

They continued to eat together, Young Sihtric finding more and more things to complain about, and Ealfled talked over him as she told everyone how she had helped her mother in the fields. 

Soon enough, Ealhswith cleaned up the took their two youngest children and continued out to the fields. Young Sihtric was still wincing whenever he rotated his left arm, and Sihtric frowned. 

“Are you alright?” He set down his ale and leaned forward, stopping his son mid-arm rotation. 

“What? Oh, I am fine.”

Young SIhtric gasped sharply as he placed his hand on his shoulder, and Sihtric raised an eyebrow. “Sihtric,” he warned, knowing that his son was hiding something from him.

Young Sihtric grimaced, but lifted his tunic up and pulled it over his head, wincing as his arm was caught. There were bruises, as was expected, but his shoulder joint was swelling slightly. 

Sihtric muttered in Danish under his breath. “I am sorry, Sihtric.” He stood up and went over to his cabinet of herbs and pulled out the willow bark shavings along with a roll of fresh bandages. Pouring some water into the pot, he hung it over the hearth and stoked the fire, building up the flames again.

“It’s alright,” his son muttered, and Sihtric took more time to properly examine his shoulder. It was tender, but the damage seemed to not be serious.

“It is not dislocated, so say your prayer of thanks for that.” He dipped the bandages into the cool water and layered them over the swelling. “Why did you not say anything?” Sihtric asked, setting the last of the bandages on his sons arm. He stood up and threw the bark shavings into a mug and ladled the hot water into it, letting the tea start to steep.

“I did not want to disappoint you.”

Frowning, Sihtric handed his son the mug and watched as he gingerly took a sip. “You would not have disappointed me,” he said, sitting back down. “Far from it.”

Young Sihtric shrugged with one shoulder. “You said you were teaching me how to be hit. So I learned.”

“That does not mean you need to suffer. Learning is different than being foolish.”

“I just…” Young Sihtric began, but then shook his head. “Never mind.”

Bothered by his son’s unwillingness to talk, he sat down and leaned towards him. “Tell me.”

“Every time you ride out with Lord Uhtred I cannot wait to one day join you. I never have any doubt that you will come back. I wanted to be like that from the moment I understood what you do.” Young Sihtric took another sip of his tea and bit his lip. “Then today, you finally tell me that today is when you teach me sword-skill, and we spend the morning hitting each other with sticks and you pushing me over.”

Sighing, Sihtric placed his hand on his son’s knee. “I am sorry you felt let down.” He chuckled dryly. “I’m… also learning how to teach sword-skill. I had to learn on my own.”

“I know, Da.” Young Sihtric placed his empty mug on the counter and pulled his tunic back over his head, his dark curly hair tousled. “I’m not angry at you.”

They sat quietly for bit, but Sihtric was deep in thought. He knew that he still had a lot of learning to do, as a father and a husband. He was still coming to terms with the fact that Uhtred was more his brother than his lord. “When you swing, you are overreaching yourself.” He offered quietly. “It creates more opportunities for your enemies to strike you fatally.”

He stood up, and went to grab his seax from the back of his weapons belt. “Like this.” He held it so the blade pointed downwards, and kept his movements close to his body. “You tend to swing widely with your shoulders.”

“Well,” his son chuckled. “You won’t have to worry about that for a time.” Sihtric felt his son keep his eyes trained on him. “Why do we practice with sticks in the first place? Other to get hit, of course.”

Placing his knife on the table, he crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “Weapons are actually dangerous, Sihtric. One wrong move during a practice and you could hurt yourself, or others.” He rolled his tunic sleeve up and showed his son a jagged cut. “I gave this to myself when I was your age when I did not know better.” He picked up his seax and gave it, hilt first, towards his son. “This was my first seax. It is an honour to receive your first weapon.” He smiled, thinking of the seax he had specially made for Sihtric upon his birth. It was still tucked beneath a floorboard under the bed that he and Ealhswith used. “It shows a trust, and that you are now a man and a warrior.”

Young Sihtric examined the blade. It was starting to thin as Sihtric kept sharpening it, but the hilt was rewrapped with leather diligently and was balanced well. 

“I’ll be ready.” Young Sihtric set the blade down with a fierce determination. “I will earn my first blade.”

Sihtric smiled, reminded of himself when he was his son’s age. “Of that, Sihtric,” he said, grinning. “I have no doubt.”


End file.
